


210

by serotinal



Category: Rocket Girls | 火箭少女, 创造101 | Produce 101 (China TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serotinal/pseuds/serotinal
Summary: Maybe Xuanyi and Fujing are both looking for a little something more amidst the dazzling lights of the stage.





	210

Fujing knows the drill. Smile, greet, hold the gaze for a few seconds—drop, brief touch of hands, glimmers of friendship—leave; Fujing knows the drill well. The intentions of the show were clear: get the first rank, maintain the first rank, debut, gain popularity, work out a reliable career path for once that isn’t turbulent and has the possibility of disappointing her loved ones.

The number 1 seat was something out of Fujing’s fantasy, a reverie that resided somewhere at the back of her mind, edged out by a wild streak of confidence. She took it, took the seat, and although feeling more lonely, a part of her wells up and she realises that in the mere seconds in which she’s entered the building complex, she’s already learnt something. Sure, Fujing knows the competitors. There are competitors everywhere—in kindergarten, those that played in the sand box with you, those that fought you for the swings; in elementary school, the ones who knew the alphabet before how to brush their teeth; in middle and high school, social climbers who had gazes for popularity and fleeting friendships; and in the workplace, now, in the form of 100 other girls who are willing to climb as far up as she is, to reach as high as she does.

 _Yuehua Girls_ , the announcement was made. They had clout, people who promised to wait on the sidelines for the rest of their youth, cameras clutched to their faces, somehow dreaming in their own ways of the girls that stood on stage—fans. They had fans. Seven girls who have names under the most well-known company on the show, something undeniably formidable, something that serves to divide them from the rest of the girls: that much is clear.

Fujing sees her and realises that she’s different at first sight. Everyone knows Xuanyi; being part of a Korean girl group as a Chinese member has its unique influence when you come back to China, that much everyone is going to be able to admit. Fujing meets eyes with her from the top of the pyramid and feels the galaxy shift just that little bit—there’s a pull, something friendly, wholly platonic at first. An aura that brings Fujing closer to her, _we should be friends._

Fujing is right. They are similar, _very_ similar, so similar that they hit it off right away.

“Xuanyi,” There's a bedazzling smile, one that only celebrities have. Fujing matches it with her practiced one, feels her lip muscles twitch a little involuntarily out of insecurity, returns the greeting. _Smile, greet, hold the gaze—_ “I have ramen.” _—what?_

“I have ramen,” Xuanyi repeats, smiling still ( _she’s good at it_ ), “I’m glad we’re dorm mates, Fujing. I think we’ll get along well.” The other girls bustle around, arranging clothes and leaving toiletries standing in the different baskets in the washroom of their new dorm as Xuanyi reaches over and holds up two cups of instant ramen, handing one to Fujing.

“I think we’ll get along well too,” Fujing finds her words, tears the lid.

—

They see each other around a lot.

Call it destiny, call it fate, call it the fact that they already had built reputations, one more than the other, but still substantial, before the show; give it a name, but it’s often in the hallways and practice rooms where they bump into each other, trading mildly apologetic, largely soft-hearted smiles. Sometimes Xuanyi laughs.

And the dorms, of course. They still share cups of ramen, lifted under the covers tented up by stacks of books and chairs here and there, with the light from a stray torchlight they managed to steal from Meiqi’s room. They still stay up talking late into the night, Xuanyi laughing at everything that Fujing says and Fujing making more eye contact with Xuanyi than she’s ever had with anyone else. Fujing still yells at Xuanyi to pick up her _damn_ clothes because the dorms are small and it’s one thing to have clean clothes littered everywhere on the floor after trying to pick an outfit for the day; but even worse to have dirty clothes hanging off the rails of the bed, brushing against legs that walk in the strained space of the parallel rooms.

Fujing realises that she does have an unusual affection for Xuanyi—but it’s okay, because Xuanyi feels the same. It’s obvious how well they click; everyone sees it. Meiqi first, because Xuanyi is the closest to her and it comes in the influx of casual questions ( _“Oh, Fujing again? She needs help? Yeah, sure, no, it’s no problem. I know.” “Fujing called you?”_ ) but then it becomes knowing gazes, nods. Meiqi knows. Then the rest of the girls catch on, one by one, especially their dorm mates. Yandi has her own way of teasing them, in the form of lingering stares that end with small giggles.

After all it’s nothing to be debated about; just two girls, getting closer because they are dorm mates and work together often. A scene that’s seen in the environment of the show every single day; with different girls, with different pairs. Friendship, but one that doesn’t leave this time.

Fujing doesn’t hang on—she doesn’t have to.

—

Rankings are stressful; it’s undeniable. Even the top of the show, the original A class, have difficulties maintaining their positions every evaluation and keeping up to par. It’s a tailored rat race, made for people with the same finishing line.

They’re standing in a line and Tao reads the names, going down the list of the trainees that have made it to the centre position this time. Fujing’s name is announced, not unsurprisingly, a few rounds after Xuanyi. Fujing smiles, lets the pride settle, before her legs are bringing her straight into Xuanyi’s arms. There’s nothing planned, nothing forced, nothing awkward—it’s a genuine hug, one where their legs are colliding due to the close proximity and Fujing has her head buried in the crook of Xuanyi’s neck, a memory familiar from when they end up sleeping under the blankets after ramen instead of going back to their own separate beds.

“Congrats,” Xuanyi murmurs, her lips and Fujing’s ear easily lining up.

Fujing thinks that there’s something genuine about the way Xuanyi treats her; like she truly cares and wants the best for her. It’s not easy to meet someone who would be willing to revolve around you, if just for a few seconds, like Xuanyi often does. Xuanyi makes Fujing feel important, validated, affirmed of her own achievements, something she often doubts herself about. Xuanyi makes her feel like herself, and there’s nothing more that Fujing wishes for.

—

“Zhiyi, are you done in the bathroom, we’re going to have to leave in _three minutes_ —”

“I know, I’m coming!”

Zhiyi rushes out, Xuanyi and Fujing charging in to finish touching up their makeup. Fujing opens the eyeshadow palette and blends out the colours above her eyelid, while Xuanyi runs the tube of lipstick over the outline of her mouth, smacking her lips in the mirror. There’s pure silence, a comfortable type, before Fujing closes the palette and Xuanyi rests a hand on her elbow, “Does this look okay? Or do you think I should go with the pinker shade I had on yesterday?”

“I think it looks good,” Fujing smiles, and Xuanyi does, too.

Then something weird shifts in the air and Fujing moves forward, pressing the other girl gently against the glass cubicle. Xuanyi’s eyes travel from Fujing’s to her lips and back to her gaze, breathing notably shallower. Fujing leans in closer, catches the scent of Xuanyi (and only Xuanyi’s) perfume, kissing her.

“Jing—”

Fujing kisses her, a hand moving to the side of Xuanyi’s neck, the other looped loosely around the shorter girl’s waist. Xuanyi’s lips begin to move of their own accord, kissing her back faster—harder. Fujing breaks apart for air first, their chests heaving against each other’s in the tight space of the tiny bathroom.

“Jing,” Xuanyi’s voice is lower now, a little rougher, “Jing, we have to go.”

“Right,” Fujing blinks, turning around almost immediately and starting off towards the door, “we have to go.”

Yandi doesn't miss a beat: “You never use that shade of lipstick,” She tells her casually on their way out, “and it’s blotched. What did you do, k— _Oh_.” Her eyes flicker to Xuanyi walking behind and Fujing’s lips, before she repeats, “ _O-h_.” Grabbing a makeup remover wipe from her bag, Fujing hurriedly rubs it off, muttering quietly, “shut up.”

Yandi doesn’t. ( _“You’re blushing really hard, you know.”_ )

—

_We should talk about it._

“Pass me the laundry bag?”

“Yeah—sure.”

Fujing passes Xuanyi the laundry bag, purposely keeping her eyes on the floor. Xuanyi’s folded her clothes today and left them all neatly in the wardrobe, Xuanyi has her shoes lined up obediently along her side of the bed, Xuanyi has automatically put her toothbrush back in its toothbrush holder without smearing any toothpaste on the marbled sink platform; Xuanyi has exited every single time Fujing has joined her in the bathroom.

_We really should._

“Xuanyi, can I—”

“I’m going to practice,” Xuanyi stands, lightning quick, grabs her bag off the floor before starting off towards the door. Yandi hums from where she was reading her book, earphones plugged into her ears; Zhiyi peeks a head out from slumber on the top bunk, murmuring a sleepy goodbye.

The door closes shut, Yandi leaving her book to rest on her chest. “She’s not going to practice,” She says, taking an earphone out, “she’s sleeping in Meiqi’s dorm tonight. Don’t wait up for her.”

—

The rankings come again, and as much as Xuanyi was playing the avoidance card, the moment she’s announced to be in B with Fujing, she comes bounding into the room right into Fujing’s hug, cheers and grins flooding back onto her face.

It must've been the pure relief and happiness that she's made it past the eliminations again into Class B, an affirmation of her skills and the like; as well as the lingering, nagging reminder at the back of her mind that she misses spending as much time as she does with Fujing; that she misses her. 

“I’m sorry,” Xuanyi whispers when the camera pans away and her mouth is hidden from sight.

Fujing steps back, smiles like she means it. “It’s okay.”

Normality sets in once again with the talks and giggles but they both sidestep the topic like a worthwhile plague; Xuanyi has a habit that involves laughing too much and too nervously whenever it gets close, and Fujing does her best to ignore it—act like it didn’t happen. Sure, it’s easy for the most bit until Xuanyi begins to treat her like she did before and Fujing thinks that maybe it was okay: that maybe Xuanyi wishes for the same twilight dream she herself does.

—

“What are you _doing_ in here?”

The lights are switched off, the electronic fans aren’t whirring with the usual annoying _swish swish_. Practice room in this block belonged to the vocal groups for the current round’s evaluation, so most of them were empty by midnight. The practice rooms in the other block for the dance groups were busy well until dawn.

“Nothing,” The figure replies, hunched over on the floor behind the piano.

There’s a tremble in the voice that hits Fujing hard, and she closes the door behind her, leaves the lights off and crouches down beside the crying girl. “Is it about the performance again?”

A slight nod. “I was almost switched out of centre,” eyes lift and Fujing feels her heart sink a little lower when they shine with tears that almost look crystalline under one of the drawn blinds. Fujing sits down properly, crossing her legs and taking one of Xuanyi’s hands into her own. “It’s no big deal,” she mutters, “you’re okay.”

“But I’m not leading them well enough.” Fujing doesn’t intertwine their fingers but she does rest another hand on Xuanyi’s cold one. “You’re leading them the best you can, and I think for them that’s enough. Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Xuanyi looks at her again, tilting her head slightly. “Really? Do you think so?”

“I know so,” Fujing shrugs, “now how about going to bed? It’s really late; and it's a big day tomorrow.”

“Big day?” Fujing breaks out into a laugh at how serious Xuanyi looks. “I’m kidding,” Fujing shakes her head, “just more practice.” Xuanyi cracks a smile, one familiar to Fujing, so Fujing stands up and offers a hand.

“Let’s go?”

“Let’s go.”

—

Roommate allocations shift halfway through the show after the first few eliminations, and Fujing finds herself sharing a room with Xuanyi yet again; along with Zixuan and Chaoyue. So ensues the joke that Chaoyue is the kid of their family, Fujing and Xuanyi as the parents. They laugh until they can’t breathe, make a ruckus at IKEA, come back to the dorm, make a ruckus in the dorm, break at least a quarter of the little DIY antiques that they bought, and laugh even more. Fujing hasn’t felt this free in awhile.

The dorm dynamics are even better this time around—although it’s still as messy ( _Fujing tries her best_ ), the four of them spend most nights sitting in a circle amidst the only cleared spaces on the floor, fan-gifts and banners stacking sky-high in the limited corridor of a room as they eat Chinese leftovers and bags of snacks. Their beds are all packed to the brim with more shopping bags and clean clothes, dirty clothes, so much that sometimes Fujing and Xuanyi share a bed after compiling their united messes on the other.

Fujing never wants Produce to end; but Xuanyi does.

Many finals begin to loom: Final missions, final dorm rearrangement, final episodes, final practices, final interviews. Everything starts to spotlight the end of the journey, especially the final mission in which they perform original songs; everyone knows that that usually marks the final performance of the show as well.

Coincidence does the deed and throws the two of them together yet again during the choosing of members for the last mission: Fujing and Xuanyi end up performing ‘Shiny’, and they both know that they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fujing tries to ignore the fact that five years ago, 18 year old her would’ve found so much more perhaps temporary yet immature kinds of excitement in having male seniors guest the show; but current her has nothing else in mind except how she’s finally going to be on stage with a friend that she loves, performing under the spotlight just as she wishes, hearing the crowd cheer before her— _for_ her, raising her banners, chanting her name. There’s nothing better; and nothing more fulfilling.

“逆风翻盘，向阳而生。”

So Fujing rides the waves, goes against the winds, and grows towards light—towards the sun.

—

Last eliminations come around the corner and go, the tension and excitement of finale day making Fujing immeasurably tense and nervous. She hardly gets _this_ nervous, to the point of the uncomfortable stirring in her stomach and tingling at the tips of her fingers, tears poking the edge of her eyes incessantly.

Xuanyi passes her, grasping her hand loosely as she leans in, “doing okay?”

“Okay.” Fujing nods stiffly, teeth chewing on her the inside of her gum as her fingers close shakily around Xuanyi’s. Xuanyi shifts her hand to slide around Fujing’s wrist, pulling her to someplace away from the buzz and hustle of the other trainees and makeup artistes backstage, ducking into an empty fitting room.

The lights flicker on, and although it’s a small space, it’s already calming Fujing down a little more effectively. She breathes easier, leaning against the dusty wardrobe behind her. This room was for the mentors and they were out for interviews and preparation, Xuanyi has had enough experience to know that this room would be empty for the next few hours.

“You’re nervous,” Xuanyi points out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Fujing’s ear.

“I’m afraid I won’t make it,” Fujing’s voice is soft, her words brittle, sounding like they’d break before travelling across the air to Xuanyi, “and I just have—so many expectations that I don’t think I might hit. It’s—I don’t want to go back to the company yet, not when I’ve shown nothing and nobody knows me for what I’m good at—”

“No,” Xuanyi interlocks their fingers, “you’ll make it. I have faith. You’ve made top 11 for most of the weeks. The public loves you. And you’re amazing. You’re a good dancer, you’re a good singer... you're one of the best people I know.”

Fujing swallows, evidently. Then she looks up, managing to meet Xuanyi’s eyes with her own misty ones.

Xuanyi breaks out into a soft laugh, wiping a tear from Fujing’s cheek. “我爱你。”

Blinking, Fujing smiles. It’s silent when she gets pulled into Xuanyi’s hug—their hugs are always the tightest, filled with a million words that can hardly be said in front of cameras, audiences or even people. It’s not a performance, Fujing has always felt this way with Xuanyi; it was never a performance, and it never will be one.

—

Xuanyi knows.

From the moment the announcement begins, Xuanyi knows that she’s going to be called; Fujing. She knows that she deserves one of the top 11 places infinitely, she knows that she’s worked herself to the bone to be able to stand on the top 20 stage, at least—Xuanyi knows that Fujing deserves it.

Then her name reverberates throughout the entire stadium, and before she knows it Xuanyi’s hopping to get a hug from her, this one full of congratulations and ‘thank you’s. She patiently watches Fujing hug Yandi, one of her better friends from the show; and a whole group of girls flood her, congratulating her, patting her on the back.

They clear, and Fujing sees Xuanyi. Another million-worded hug stops Fujing’s tears if for a little, Xuanyi murmuring a quiet “I told you” amongst the hysterical cheers. Maybe it’s ironic that Fujing hears her the loudest.

—

Fujing jostles through the crowd, goes past contestants who congratulate her—she smiles; goes past fans, who call her name—she nods; goes past the staff, clutching huge cameras and lighting equipment—she thanks them; goes past what feels like a million more faceless bodies before she catches sight of the familiar streak in brunette hair and shining eyes. She grabs her wrist.

“Hey,” Fujing says, a little breathless, “hey.”

Xuanyi grins, breaking away from the picture she had been posing for immediately, “I was looking for you.”

“Can we—” Fujing tilts her head towards the hallways and Xuanyi nods. They head off towards a quieter place, ending up in another broom closet where there are no eyes. Don’t get Fujing wrong: She loves showbiz, loves the crowd, the audience, the performance, but right now privacy is the best oasis.

The cameras have stopped rolling for the finale and the members were given some time to interact with fans or other contestants before they were ordered to change and leave for the Changsha flight; time was already ticking.

Xuanyi lets time glide around, fitting in between the spaces of tension in the air before the emotions in her swirl to such a hurricane that it results in an explosion, one that lets Xuanyi surge forward, kissing Fujing; this time, first. She mutters the three Chinese characters again and again against Fujing’s lips, pleading for an eternity unique to them; knowing it’s a secret that both of them would die to keep. Fujing grins into the kiss, letting teeth bump gently against lips. Then she starts to laugh and they break apart naturally for air, Fujing bending down slightly to let their foreheads rest against each other. Xuanyi wonders if their pulses are syncing.

“Thank you,” Fujing whispers, quiet but so, so loud, “I love you too.”

Xuanyi shakes her head, “I’m sorry it took this long.”

Another beat of silence, before Fujing rearranges her collar and wipes the last tear from her eye ( _she promises to stop crying for the day; her head is hurting, her eyes are dry_ ), taking Xuanyi’s hand in hers again. They head off towards backstage where all the girls are—now new 11 members of a group that will go down as one of China’s most legendary girl groups.

They will keep running, even when it hurts, even when it gets tiring. They will keep running, holding on to each other, passing the baton on when it gets too tough, breaths and steps intertwined; and somehow, on somedays—on most days, it will become more than enough.

—

 


End file.
